THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH A BLOODY BANDAGE WRAPPED AROUND MY HAND—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CUT HERSE

The airport terminal felt like a vacuum. All the sound, all the air, simply vanished.

Luca stared at the photograph in his trembling hands.

It was Vanessa. She looked younger, her hair pulled back loosely, smiling brightly at the camera. But she wasn't alone in the picture. She was standing in a nursery, heavily pregnant, holding up a tiny red coat.

"This is impossible," Luca whispered. "Vanessa was never pregnant. I would have known."

"You wouldn't have," Michael gasped from the floor, rubbing his bruised throat. "Because she didn't want you to know."

Luca spun around, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury. "Explain."

Michael slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He looked defeated. "Seven years ago, you and Vanessa broke up for six months. Remember?"

Luca’s jaw tightened. "She went to Europe. She said she needed space."

"She didn't go to Europe," Michael said bitterly. "She went to a private clinic in upstate New York. She was pregnant, Luca. But our father… he had just arranged the merger between our families. He knew a baby out of wedlock, a sudden pregnancy during a breakup, would complicate the negotiations. He demanded she get rid of it."

Luca looked at the little girl, who was now hiding behind his mother's legs.

"But she didn't," Luca said.

"No," his mother, Rosa, spoke up. Her voice was stronger now. "She carried the baby to term. But your father wouldn't allow Vanessa to raise her. He told Vanessa the child died in childbirth."

I gasped. "He stole her baby?"

Rosa nodded, tears shining in her eyes. "He sent the baby to the same remote estate where he had been keeping me locked away. He forced me to raise her in secret. If I tried to escape, if I tried to contact you, he promised he would kill the child."

The horror of it settled over the room like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Vanessa’s father hadn't just stolen Luca’s mother. He had stolen Luca’s daughter. And Vanessa didn't even know her child was alive.

"Wait," Luca said, stepping toward Michael. "If Vanessa thinks her baby died… why are you here? Why are you trying to put them on a plane?"

Michael looked away. "Because Vanessa found out."

My stomach dropped.

"Three days ago," Michael confessed, "Vanessa found an old ledger in our father’s office. She saw the payments going to the estate. She drove up there. She saw them."

"And she wanted her daughter back?" I asked, wanting to believe there was some maternal instinct left in the woman who treated everyone like dirt.

Michael let out a dark, humorless laugh.

"No, Emma," Michael said, looking at me. "Vanessa is marrying Luca in two weeks. She is about to become the queen of the Chicago syndicate. A secret, illegitimate seven-year-old daughter who proves her father is a kidnapper? That destroys her perfect narrative. That ruins the wedding."

Luca stepped back, his face draining of color. "What did she tell you to do?"

Michael swallowed hard. "She told me to put them on a private plane to South America. She told me to make sure they never came back. And if I didn't… she would send her own security team to handle it permanently."

Luca looked down at the photograph again.

He didn't just have an heir. He had a daughter who was currently being hunted by her own mother.

"Mia," Rosa whispered, stroking the little girl's hair. "Her name is Mia."

Luca dropped to one knee. He held his hand out to the little girl.

"Mia," he said, his voice breaking. "I am your father. And no one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise you."

Mia looked at his outstretched hand. Slowly, she stepped out from behind Rosa and placed her tiny fingers into his massive palm.

A heavy, emotional weight lifted from Luca’s shoulders. He had his family back.

But the relief didn't last.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I had forgotten I was still wearing my maid's uniform under my coat.

I pulled it out. It was a text message from Daniel, the head of security.

Emma, where did you take him? Vanessa just left the mansion with four armed men in two SUVs. She accessed the Aston Martin’s GPS tracker. She’s heading straight for Terminal 4.

Panic seized my chest. "Mr. Moretti," I gasped. "They’re coming. Right now."

Luca instantly stood up, his protective instincts taking over. "Michael, where is the plane?"

"Gate 3," Michael said, scrambling to his feet. "The pilots are ready."

"We can't fly," Luca realized. "If they know we're here, they have the airspace monitored. We need to leave on the ground."

"The front entrance is a glass box," I said, looking out at the rain-slicked runway. "If they pull up, they'll trap us."

"There has to be a service exit," Luca said, scanning the terminal.

I looked toward the back of the terminal, near the luggage belts. My mind flashed to the two years I spent working night shifts as a janitor before I got the job at the Moretti estate.

"There is," I said quickly. "The baggage claim tunnels. They lead straight to the underground maintenance garage. My old boss used to let us park there."

"Lead the way," Luca ordered.

He grabbed his mother's arm to support her, while Michael scooped Mia up into his arms.

We ran past the ticketing counters, slipping behind the 'Employees Only' doors just as the screech of tires echoed from the front drop-off zone.

Through the glass, I saw two black SUVs slide to a halt. The doors flew open.

Vanessa stepped out into the rain. She wasn't wearing her red silk gown anymore. She was wearing a black trench coat, and her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

We plunged into the dark, narrow baggage tunnel. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and rubber.

"Keep moving," Luca hissed, checking his weapon.

We reached the end of the tunnel, pushing open a heavy metal door that led into the dim maintenance garage.

It was empty, save for a few abandoned service carts.

"The exit is just up that ramp," I said, pointing to a sloped driveway that led back out to the access roads.

We started walking toward it.

But suddenly, the heavy metal door behind us slammed open.

Footsteps echoed against the concrete.

"Luca!" a voice shouted.

It was Vanessa.

She stood at the end of the garage, holding a silver handgun. Four massive men in tactical gear flanked her, their weapons raised and pointed directly at us.